


Obscurare

by palimpsestus



Series: Hidden in His Coat Is His Tin Right Hand [4]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, far harbour spoilers, identity crisis, seaside holidays
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-07-10 15:25:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6991114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/palimpsestus/pseuds/palimpsestus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the years since the Institute fell, complications and entanglements have grown around Valentine's heart, and now he can no sooner cut them away than he could cut away parts of himself. When Kasumi Nakano sails over the sea, Valentine worries more about the people he might lose, than any strange apparitions that might loom out of the fog.</p><p>Fourth in the 'Tin Right Hand' series, but could reasonably stand alone. Will get spoilery after a few chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Scalpel

**Author's Note:**

> If you're unfamiliar with the 'Tin Right Hand' series you can start here - all you need to know is that Nora sided with the Railroad and Nick downloaded into a Gen 3 body (which he's still coming to terms with).

The illness that had settled in his chest over the last winter ached to make itself known. It tickled the back of his throat, weighed like lead on his aching back. He kept the treacherous cough tamped down, focussed on the soft heat surrounding his fingers, the protestations of the iron bedstead, and Nora crying out his name as her thighs clamped together over his wrist. He watched her head tilt back, lips parted in one last cry of his name, eyelashes brushing her cheeks as her eyes fluttered closed.

 

He had learned long, long ago that he was not a man who felt at peace with the world. But this warm, unearned pride in what nature had made fairly easy for a pair was a balm for soul.

 

The salt and spray stench of the town started to intrude upon his senses once more, as Nora unspooled beneath him like a line that'd lost its catch. She made a quiet ' _hmm_ ' low in her throat, and arched her back beneath the sheets, finding a comfortable position on the rented mattress. Nick stretched himself out beside her and finally allowed himself one, small, cough.

 

Nora opened one eye and regarded him. When no further coughs were forthcoming, which took a great deal of effort on Nick's part, she returned to sleep.

 

As he usually did, Nick rose first. He dressed quickly against the cold Maine air and walked quietly through the common sleeping area, noting those who were still asleep, and those markedly missing. He stumbled down the sand-worn steps to the Last Plank tavern room. The old man Longfellow was sitting with a rum in hand already, and he eyed Nick knowingly as the detective appeared.

 

Nick hated that look, hated it whomever it came from. He knew, from somewhere in the Old Valentine's memories, that once it would have been uncouth to remark on what could be heard through uncaulked floorboards and badly fitted doors. But in the Commonwealth lovemaking was everyone's business, and Nick knew it was only in recent times that he'd grown so sensitive about Nora's loud voice.

 

The bartender gave him a sympathetic glance and fixed him up a strange, bitter tea without asking, serving it with the hot, flaky pastry the harbormen ate that Nick was fast learning to love. He sat by the bar with his breakfast and watched the spray patter on the windows. Another grey, foggy day.

 

The door opened to let in the sounds of the wharf, the screeching birds and incessant rattle of the surf on the stony shore, for it to be only slightly dampened as the door swung closed once more. Shaun strode in from the cold, stamping his boots against the floorboards and shaking off his coat, a habit of the islanders that he'd quickly picked up, perhaps consciously mimicking the hard people of the rock. The question of Gen 3 ageing had been quickly answered. At about fifteen years of age Shaun was now a lanky teen, whose pants and shirt were too short at the ankle and wrist, and whose ribcage protruded from his chest like a little bird.

 

He asked if the boy had eaten and when Shaun said he had, Nick asked what the boy had been up to and Shaun obliged with another story of wandering around outside the hull shooting at the small gulpers that prowled the town.

 

“You were careful, though?” Nick checked.

 

“Always” Shaun retorted, grinning.

 

While Nick doubted that very much he didn't press the issue any further. Nora had arrived, descending the staircase like a valkyrie might descend from valhalla. In the years that he'd known her, he'd tracked the progress of her hardships on her face. The Commonwealth had robbed her of all softness and decorated her instead with silvery scars. Her hair was never allowed to grow much past her shoulders and before the tumultuous boat ride she'd demanded it cropped beneath her ears. The salt of their sweat and the sea had it curling like a cloud around her. In the relative safety of the Last Plank she wore leather britches and a loose red shirt, a serrated blade strapped to her boot and Kellogg's old pistol on her thigh. The much trusted hunting rifle was stowed beneath their bed for now, until they ventured out beyond the Hull on another foray out into the fog.

 

Of all of them in the Last Plank, only Shaun seemed immune to her, he was taking advantage of the lull by sneaking a bottle of rum into his coat. Nick fasted his fingers on the boy's wrist and scowled. Shaun smiled, wide and no longer gap toothed, and he released the bottle without any of the others noticing.

 

Nora approached them and laid her hand on Nick's shoulder, and knowing better than to kiss her son's cheek in front of witnesses, she only nodded to him.

 

“Are you going out past the Hull today?” Shaun asked casually.

 

“Not today,” Nora said, accepting a breakfast of her own. Mainlander's caps were as good as any. “I think next time we go out we might stay away a few nights.”

 

Shaun nodded, but the news seemed to disappoint him. For Nick's part in it, he couldn't say he wanted to get back out in that fog any sooner. The prospect of trying to make a camp out in it, though the road up to Acadia had been mostly cleared by their journeys, was not one he relished. So while Nora ate with her son, he excused himself and walked the promenade, hunkered down in his coat and smoking one of the islander's branded cigarettes.

 

Nick's third generation body, aptly also the third body he could reasonably lay claim to, was beginning to feel like home. Illness and pain, pleasure and excess had all found their home in the prison of bone and skin. Still . . .

 

While he still liked to see a face in the mirrors in the mornings, the memories were still what they had always been, and Nora seemed to think of him no differently. There were one or two things that both he and she had to say they enjoyed a little more nowadays, but that, again, seemed a terribly uncouth reason to have ever wanted a body. Why had he chosen a cage of flesh instead of steel? The question worried at the frayed edges of his mind like it had for months.

 

Some had no choice at all in the matter. And yet they railed against it still. His thoughts returned to Kasumi, to the Nakatos waiting for word, and to Shaun and Nora inside the Last Plank. Shaun would undoubtedly be petitioning again to be allowed to join them on the trek to Acadia. The boy's arguments were well reasoned, who else knew what it was like to come to that realisation that you were not who your family said you were? Who else might be able to convince Kasumi that there was a way to live with that lie? And, most convincingly of all, the argument that had brought Shaun this far already – if they would not go with him he would go himself.

 

It was all very logical, if the fear of losing Shaun didn't manifest like a damned knife between Nick's ribs.

 

He sat on the docks, stared out at the ocean, and smoked, dangling his legs off the boardwalk. After a while, the boards creaked as Shaun joined him, mimicking his pose. “Mother says we'll be off to Acadia tomorrow,” he said, daring Nick to contradict him. “She thinks it won't take the whole day to get there, not as you've cleared most of the road, but that we'll likely stay there if they let us. Anyway, Longfellow says we could make a safe enough camp above the fogline outside Acadia if we had to.”

 

Nick nodded his agreement to that.

 

“So . . . that's agreed then?” Shaun didn't seem to quite believe his luck.

 

“Well if you can keep up,” Nick said with a smirk. Shaun grinned, and Nick badly wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him, to tell him not to be so reckless with his life, to understand what was out there . . . but he only looked out at the fog that seemed to want to creep over the sea, only to be turned back by the lashing waves.

 

 

The conversation with Nora in their room that night went a little different. He sat on the bed pulling his boots off one by one while Nora stood in the middle of the room, outlining the fors and the againsts and concluding with a rousing speech to the jury, by which point Nick was undressed down to his boxers and vest and sprawled out on the mattress. “Would your honour hear an objection?” he asked at last.

 

Nora scowled. “Neither of us are likely to change our minds, Nick, so I don't think I see the point.” She kicked off her pants and crawled into the bed beside him clad only in her shirt, securing herself beneath his arm and close to his body. She groaned in complaint of the whole idea and Nick twisted to kiss the crown of her head. “Why should I even feel worried about it?” Nora grumbled into his skin. “As if I've given him a bad life, and he might choose to stay in synth utopia?”

 

“We don't even know what's waiting for us there,” Nick assured her. “It might just be a shack with a few lowlifes hanging around.” He held her closer to him, hoping that is was true, but doubting it from Longfellow's stories. “He's a good kid, Nora, he's just curious.” He felt his breath catch as her thumb rubbed against the hollow between his collarbones.

 

“And what about you?” she murmured, running her fingers down the seam of his body, his flesh prickling as her thumb descended. “You're not like to leave me for a synth haven, are you?”

 

Her ministrations had him stretching out beneath her, like one of the little segmented crawlers uncurled when fetched up from the deep by the fishermen. “I couldn't imagine it,” he said faithfully. In this body at least, he could not. They lay together on the narrow bed, sharing warmth with their exposed limbs, the threadbare sheets gathered at their waist. Nick kept one arm around her shoulders, the other he used to pillow his head. Nora slept soundly, seemingly soothed by the endless rattle of the ocean. Nick watched the rivulets of rain stream down the bubbled glass windows. She was as ingrained into him as his own scent, and he could not begin to fathom how he could separate them.

 

He slipped in and out of sleep as the rain tapped on the window, dreaming of a metal hand wielding a scalpel above him, slicing into his skin, trying to cut enough away to rid him of Nora.

 


	2. Incision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick, Nora and Shaun reach the observatory

Nora waited a time at the edge of the fogline, the stock of her hunting rifle comfortably resting on her shoulder as she scanned the open ground before them. Nick hung back on the road, watching their tail for any stray ghouls that might come stumbling into view, while Shaun shifted impatiently and kept looking to Longfellow for support.

 

Nick would have felt sorrier for the boy if this wasn't par for the course. Nora was not a natural warrior and her successes were down entirely to her preparation. If she could find a safe and non-lethal route, she would. Nick appreciated her caution, and appreciated even more when they were able to accomplish their goals without firing a shot. But he imagined it wasn’t what a teenaged boy thought being a mighty adventurer was all about.

 

When she ordered them forward, they moved less cautiously, guns in hand but lowered. Shaun tried to draw Longfellow into further conversation but the man had grown more reticent as they approached the old bunker. Some kind of observatory, Nick thought, once upon a time. But he found the place strangely desolate as they made their way through the barricades.

 

Longfellow offered to make a camp at the fogline and to wait for them, but could be persuaded to come no closer. Nora told him not to wait. Whatever would happen, would happen, and if he would not be an extra gun inside Acadia he could not be of any likely use. This was unsaid of course, and Nick thought he was the only one to follow her line of reasoning.

 

They hesitated a little at the door, Shaun looking between them both, before Nora reached to put her hand on the knob. It swung open with the merest touch, and the absurdity of their hesitation made Shaun giggle. Nora gestured for their guns to be lowered and strode forward. Nick laid his hand on Shaun's shoulder before allowing the boy to continue. “Stay close,” he murmured, letting the boy step forward.

 

The long, wide, concrete corridor was poorly lit with backup luminescence and candles. A woman in a courser uniform and a young man waited side by side at the far end, and beyond them the flickering fluorescence of screens.

 

“Halt,” the woman demanded, but Nora had already slung her rifle on her back and had her hands up.

 

“We mean no harm, we're only here to talk,” she said, stopping in front of the pair.

 

A movement caught Nick's eye, behind the guardians and in the observatory proper. A man getting to his feet . . . and yet . . .

 

“Put your gun down,” the woman snapped, her own pistol trained on Nick.

 

Nick hadn't quite realised he had drawn his gun, but drawn it he had, and he was aiming it at the figure who slowly coalesced into view.

 

Nora gasped, and Shaun breathed 'Nick', as a face from the past approached.

 

“Welcome to Acadia,” the synth, the synth who looked like he had looked, said. He looked between the three of them, a vague smile playing on his immobile cheeks. “I'm sure you have many questions.”

 

“Starting with the hell are you,” Nick retorted.

 

“Please,” the synth said, raising a metal hand. Nick could see a shiver pass down Nora's shoulders. “You've entered a place of clarity. Of understanding.” He lowered his skeletal hand and focussed on Nora. “While you are here in Acadia, synth-kind welcomes you.” And he looked back to Nick and Shaun. “All of you are very welcome here, but we do ask that you not threaten us while we offer you shelter.” His voice rolled with amusement and Nick could feel the knots in his spine easing.

 

“I've never seen a synth like you before,” Nora announced, and another knot undid in Nick's stomach. He put his hand back on Shaun's shoulder, just in case the boy was like to protest, but Shaun was now doing his best impression of his mother, languid hips and head slightly cocked as he listened to the explanation.

 

“Do not let my appearance frighten you,” the old Synth said. “I assure you I am quite safe.” At this, his companions seemed to relax too. “This is Chase, and this is Faraday,” he introduced the others.

 

“I'm Nora. My son, Shaun. And this is Nick.”

 

“Sorry about the gun,” Nick offered.

 

The old synth bowed his head. “It happens more often than you might think. The rest of our people are below for that very reason.”

 

“We didn't think ourselves in great danger,” Chase said, which earned an approving look from Nora. The old synth seemed to note it too, his gaze lingering on his woman for a moment.

 

“And you may call me DiMA. Please, tell me why you have made the journey here?”

 

Before Nora could draw breath to respond, Shaun had taken a step forward, slipping away from Nick's grasp, and said, “I'm a synth. My – parents – helped me come here.” His stumble on 'parents' was only momentary, a hitch so slight that Nick thought no one but him noticed it. But then, it was meant for him.

 

“Ahhh,” DiMA looked between the adults, his gaze not even lingering on Nick’s face. “And you support this?”

 

“It was come with him or let him go alone,” Nora said. Her right thumb was tucked through the belt loop of her denims, her knuckles white beneath her fist. “Some friends of ours, their daughter, Kasumi, heard your broadcast too. She left without saying a word.”

 

“Her parents must be very concerned, “DiMA conceded with a bow of his crowned head, “but I assure you she’ll be safer and happier with us. This place is a refuge, a sanctuary. We’re so very pleased to see you here, Shaun. You must all be tired from your journey. Chase, would you show them below and see if we can’t find a bed for them? And perhaps see if Kasumi is nearby?”

 

“That’s very kind,” Nora said. She hesitated, giving DiMA one last lingering look before allowing herself to be led down a wide flight of concrete stairs to Acadia proper.

 

They were fed and watered and met an assortment of quiet but mostly contented people, including Kasumi Nakano, and Shaun was giving an excellent impression of a young synth discovering his people. Nick and Nora sat with their backs to the wall, side by side, a little way off from the little communion occurring. “What do you think?” Nora asked, her lips masked by the mug she held to them.

 

Nick put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer, pressing a kiss into her hair. “I don’t know him. Never seen anything like him.”

 

“And Acadia?”

 

He sighed and looked out over the gathering, to where one of the refugee synths was telling a story to Shaun that had many of the others laughing, and a wide grin spread over Shaun’s features. “I’ve seen worse places.”

 

“Hmm.”

 

Nick held on to her warmth, watching the synths, synths like him, and he could feel the itch beneath his fingertips. “I’m going hunting,” he murmured, and got to his feet, rearranging the lie of his trenchcoat with a shrug, and he gave the best impression of a loving father and husband he could, kissing Nora’s brow and clasping Shaun’s shoulder as he headed upstairs, fishing in his pocket for a packet of cigarettes.

 

He held the little paper roll between his fingers, tapping the end against the cigarette’s carton although any tobacco had long since settled or completely fallen out. The action drew the desired attention however and the strange synth was drifting closer.

 

“Oh sorry, want me to smoke this outside?” Nick asked.

 

DiMA held up a skeletal hand. “No need, I can’t smell it.”

 

“Huh.” Nick pressed the cigarette between his lips and flicked the lighter on, watching the flame flicker. “I thought you, uh, model two units were equipped with a bunch of different sensors.”

 

DiMA watched him with a face that was unable to emote more than passivity. The bank of computers behind him blinked and hummed as though he wore his expression through them. “Are you a connoisseur of the Institute?”

 

“You might say that.” Nick shrugged. “I’ve known a few synths over the years.”

 

“Perhaps that’s why your son felt safe enough to bring both of you with him,” DiMA mused, bowing his head and revealing a little more of that skull bristling with tubes.  “In answer to your question, I removed some extraneous sensory inputs. These bodies are limited, those sensors were only generating data I’d have to store somewhere.”

 

Nick nodded, sucking on the hot cloying smoke of his cigarette. “Guess I never thought of that.”

 

DiMA stood beside him, the pair of them watching the long corridor stretch out. Beyond it was Far Harbour and its fog, spiralling around the observatory like the smoke spiralled up from his hand.

 

“That surprises me, Nick Valentine,” DiMA said.

 

His heart skipped a beat and he glanced at the synth. “You know my name?”

 

“Yes,” DiMA bowed his head. “And once upon a time, you knew mine.”

**Author's Note:**

> Loving the themes of identity in Far Harbour.


End file.
